Kaleidoscope
by The Flying Hobbo
Summary: A mix of crossover ideas and outlandish plot bunnies - some might eventually become full-blown fics.
1. Faded Roses

Author's Note:

_This is the first of the Faded Rose series, a crossover between Dragonlance and Harry Potter. Some details might be skewed for the sake of the fic, but it should fit pretty well overall. If you've never read Dragonlance, you can still get the gist of it by visiting our old friend Wikipedia and looking up Raistlin Majere._

**Faded Roses**

Platform Nine and Three Quarters had dipped into utter chaos, as it always did the day where Hogwarts students came to board the train. Mothers hugged the younger children, trying to squeeze the affection into their scrawny bodies before they left for the year, while the older teenagers met up with friends before grabbing a compartment where they could catch up. The hidden platform was swamped with people talking, laughing and saying heir goodbyes, so it was not surprising nobody noticed the two robed silhouettes that appeared out of thin air in a corner, the small popping sound that usually accompanied apparition absent. One was a tall, slender man in black robes: his hood mostly shadowed his face, but the few patches of skin that could be seen were of a strange golden color. He clutched an ornate staff in his hands and a handful of silk pouches were at his hip – there was an almost palpable impression of power that shrouded him, and his lips curled mockingly as his hourglass-shaped eyes studied the wizards busying themselves. The second individual was a child of around eleven years old, by his appearance, and his green eyes and messy hair would no doubt draw attention before the day was done. Scowling slightly, the child turned to his companion and spoke quietly.

"I still say this is a waste of time, Master, I could learn so much more at…" he started before being cut off by a dismissive gesture of the golden-skinned adult.

"You _will_ go study under those 'wizards', Harry. We will discuss this no more," Raistlin Majere replied as he continued to observe the agitation that surrounded him.

Frustration was evident on the young boy's face, but he did not argue with his teacher after the statement – Raistlin had little patience for foolishness at the best of times and Harry knew he'd already pushed the subject too much. Still, the very idea of living in a castle located in the middle of nowhere for almost a year raised his hackles. Another child might have been distressed at the idea of being without the presence of the closest thing he had to a father figure for the first time, but Harry was long used to the absences and disappearances of his Master. They might both live in the Tower of Palanthas, but ever since he'd been able to walk and feed himself Raistlin had returned most of his attention to his own arcane research. No, it was the fact that he would be away from the Tower's enormous library that was making him wince inside. That and the fact that he doubted any second rate wand-waver could teach him anything that the most dangerous mage to ever grace Krynn could not.

"Par'Salian is looking closely into our affairs, and while I might be beyond his reach you are not. Not until you take the Test, little Magus," Raistlin spoke calmly.

That the black robed mage even bothered to explain the reason behind his order belied how close the two of them had become over the years. Harry had never broached the subject, but he knew it must have been a source of constant headaches for Raistlin to raise him when he'd quite literally appeared at his doorstep all those years ago, especially since the mage wasn't exactly the fatherly type. He'd been dropped at a wetting nurse's home often enough when he was still too young to handle himself in the Tower, but he'd always known it was the man with the hourglass eyes who'd decided he would live and not become another meal for the dwellers of the Shoikan Grove. The mage's motives had been far from disinterested, he'd learned later, but the gesture still remained and for that Raistlin would always have his fidelity. Living with the golden-skinned man had bound them together tighter than any of them had though possible, and Harry remained convinced Raistlin felt for him the closest thing to affection he could muster.

"Yes, Master," he agreed quietly.

The black-clad mage raised a sardonic eyebrow at his obedient demeanor before this face turned stern.

"I expect you will not fall behind in learning true thaumaturgy while attending this… institution. Do not disappoint me," he cautioned the young boy before tapping the butt of his staff against the ground and disappearing in a flurry of silky black robes.

Not really surprised at the curt dismissal – he'd long ago learned that coddling and emotional crutches were not to be expected of his teacher – the green-eyed child passed a hand through his hair as he watched the flow of students boarding the 'train', as he'd been informed it was called. The apparatus looked like a thing straight out of a gnome's demented mind and Harry had the vague impression it would blow up before the trip was done. Hopefully he'd make it out alive, he reflected somberly as he dragged his trunk and joined the masses.


	2. Faded Roses II

**Faded Roses II**

Carefully opening the leather-bound tome on his knees, the green-eyed child threw a brief glance at the door of the compartment – he was alone in this little piece of the Abyss, the Gods be thanked for small favors. Harry had no love for children, a fact he'd discovered when forced to frequent some of the Conclave's apprentices: his Master had wanted to trade a few scrolls from other mages at the Tower of Wayreth, and he'd suffered the company of other magelings for a few hours. Their transparent attempts to learn all they could about his reclusive teacher had been met with well-deserved scorn and a few sarcastic dismissals. One of the downsides of being raised by Raistlin Majere, he mused, was that stupidity became a truly grating experience. Lovingly caressing the old book's pages, the Boy-Who-Lived buried himself in the study of a language he was probably the only being in this plane of existence able to read. From what he'd understood, the wand-wavers of this world used an extinct tongue as the basis for their thaumaturgy – the fact that Krynn's mages had crafted their own language for the sole purpose of their art was just another proof of their undeniable superiority over these… wizards. _Do not be arrogant, little Magus – there is always more to learn, more to grasp. _His Master's words, still as fresh in his mind as the day they'd been uttered, forced a sigh out of the green-eyed boy. It would not do to get blinded by his own preconceptions, knowledge could be found in even the strangest places. The sudden sound of the door opening jerked him out of his reflections and Harry's eyes quickly sought the source of the noise – it was a red-haired boy with a face splattered by freckles, shuffling a bit nervously.

"The other compartments are full, d'you reckon I could, er, sit in here?"

Harry's first impulse was to reply rather acidly that he could continue looking, but that damnable voice in the back of his head he recognized as common sense informed him he was supposed to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Being acerbic to a boy he didn't know was not the wisest course of action if he did not want to be noticed, even if his current exasperation at the world in general demanded it.

"I suppose," Harry conceded grudgingly.

Returning his attention to the tome, the green-eyed boy frowned as he stumbled on a few terms he did not understand – not in their current context, at least. Cursing himself for having taken only one book out of his trunk, the young wizard flipped back a page delicately, trying to divine the meaning from the preceding text. _Perhaps the word of power is affected by the following rune instead of the contrary? But that would mean…_

"My name's Ron, Ron Weasley," an irritating voice piped up.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose and pushing up his glasses – gnome-crafted and inlaid with a few enchantments by his teacher himself – Harry turned a flat stare on the ginger. Lunitari save him, he wasn't expected to hold a conversation, was he? Wishing he'd locked the door as soon as he'd entered the compartment, the green-eyed wizard reached for his meager reserves of patience.

"Harry Potter," he stated in a tone that conveyed that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.

Apparently this Weasley character wasn't perceptive enough to take a hint and be silent, as this tidbit of information made his eyes widen and a something like eagerness crept into them. Harry had been aware of his status as a relative celebrity in the Wizarding community – the faint sardonic smile quirking his Master's lips had betrayed he was highly amused by the situation when they'd first discovered it – but the look on the redhead's face was disturbing. Not for the first time, the young wizard had a feeling this year would cause him far too many headaches to be worth any potential knowledge gained.

"Can I see it, you know, the scar?" Weasley asked breathlessly.

Harry was saved the trouble of informing the redhead he was by no means a circus animal meant to entertain the populace when the door opened once again, allowing in a pale blond while two thick boys stood in the corridor. Did no one in this cursed land know how to knock? The green-eyed wizard quirked an eyebrow at the newcomer, electing to ignore the eager idiot facing him at the moment.

"So it's true then, what they were saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts," the intruder said smoothly.

"Apparently," the black-haired boy answered sardonically. From the corner of his eye, he could see Weasley scowling at the newcomer, which already put him higher in Harry's esteem than most wizard's he'd met.

"I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy," the blond said with a smile as his eyes locked on Harry, dismissing the redhead as insignificant.

At least until Weasley started snickering at the introduction – what exactly was so amusing about it mystified the green-eyed wizard, but he didn't presume to understand the redhead's thought process. Nor did he had any desire too. Malfoy seemed to take offence to the idiot's mirth however, his face turning into an aristocratic sneer.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who _you_ are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

The ginger-haired boy flushed angrily and Harry noted idly that there must have been at least an iota of truth in the blonde's insult to draw such a reaction from him. Weasley's clothes were clean and in good condition but looked a bit used if one studied them long enough, so the insinuation of poverty was most likely true. Still, none of this petulant altercation was worth his time and the redhead's response was cut short by the sound of Harry's book snapping shut. Indifferently gathering his black robes together, the messy-haired wizard made for the door. He was stopped by the sound of Malfoy's voice and half-turned to peer at the blond over his glasses.

"Potter! What are you doing?" the boy asked in a mix of surprise and anger.

"I have no interest in petty bickering and both of you twits have interrupted my reading," Harry replied acidly.

Leaving twin faces of shock behind him, the green-eyed wizard disappeared in the corridor in search for a compartment where imbeciles wouldn't verbally assault him at every turn.

He'd found an empty compartment barely a minute's walk away : evidently Weasley had been lying, most likely in a misguided attempt to make friends. Closing both the door and shutters behind him had been enough of a preventive measure, as there had been not further attempt to get on his nerves by anyone. The rest of the journey had been pleasantly uneventful, the only sound being that of the pages turning as he tried to wrap his mind around the spellbook: it was a bit advanced for him, perhaps, but his teacher had certainly not become so powerful by following the rules. Getting out of the train without need for changing – he'd been wearing school robes ever since arriving at the platform, as his usual garb would have raised eyebrows – he was hailed by a giant of man like the other first years. Eyeing the giant man, who was the school's Gamekeeper according to the whispering students surrounding him, with undisguised interest, Harry wondered what had caused him to reach such a size. Was it a deformation caused by magic or simply blood ties with another race? Perhaps he'd inquire if he ever had the time, the answer might be enlightening.

All the new students were herded into boats and the crossed the lake that separated them from the school – the tall towers and massive structure dotted with lights was somewhat impressive, the dark-haired wizard conceded. It would never rival the unspeakable terror and glory of the Tower of Palanthas or the shroud of mystery and authority that was the Tower of Wayreth, but it was already far more than he'd expected. A ravenous glint appeared in Harry's eyes at the thought of the library such a castle would sport – it was not High Wizardry, but magic in any form fascinated him in a way that could not be denied. Lost in his mind the trip appeared much quicker than it really was and the children were guide into the halls where a stern-looking woman told them to wait. After a few minute's wait the woman – McGonagall, Malfoy's voice identified her loudly enough for Harry to hear – came back and ushered them into the Great Hall. The sight of the enchanted ceiling drew gasps out of the other children but left the green-eyed boy indifferent: after seeing the Tower of the Stars, the Silvanesti elve's crowning achievement, the cheap enchantments were nothing to goggle at. Paying no attention to the whispered discussion between a few of the others, he focused on the tattered hat that stood on a seat in the middle of the hall, as if it was throne. The boy's eyes widened in surprise when the construct opened its brim and started a mildly informative song about the respective merits of the Hogwarts houses. Slytherin and Ravenclaw were philosophies he could appreciate but Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were another story. What in the God's name did bravery and courage have to do with the arcane arts? Chivalry was an affair for the Knights of Solamnia, not _wizards_ – if they wanted to wave a sword that badly let them become squires. While loyalty was perhaps present in skewed forms amongst the Conclave, Harry still did not think it worth such glorification: the only loyalty a mage owed was to magic. Everything else came second, be it family, friends or lover – magic was that already and so much more.

"Potter, Harry!"

McGonagall's voice drew him out of his reverie and the messy-haired child walked towards the hat, whispers blooming behind him as he did. The young wizard frowned slightly but said nothing, deftly taking the hat from the stool and trying it on after seating himself. He should have expected this kind of an artifact to peruse his mind, he really should have, but it still came as a surprise – the feeling of his thoughts and memories being sifted through made him stiffen on his seat.

_Calm down, Mr Potter, there is nothing to be worried about._

"I beg to differ," he muttered back through clenched teeth.

_Do you? _The Sorting Hat replied with distinct amusement. _Still, the choice is clear as crystal – I only regret Rowena never met you. Ah, the discussions you two would have had…_

"RAVENCLAW!"

**Author's Note:**

_Second installment of the Faded Roses series is up! Not much happening yet, but a Raistlin-raised Harry is bound to start making waves sooner or later. Dumbledore and Quirell might find they're biting off more than they can chew - not to mention Snape._


	3. To Conquer The Green

**Author's Note: **Yes, this is an Eyeshield 21/Harry Potter crossover. What can I say, I like the weird ones :)

**To Conquer The Green**

The green-eyed teenager watched the sea of nervous would-be students crowded around the tall billboard, desperately seeking their admission number. A small mocking smile quirked his lips as he watched relief wash over the faces of the freshmen one after the other. None of them had noticed that every single candidate applying to Deimon High this year had been accepted, as the institution was in desperate need of students. It was the very reason he was here, after all – only a school in such dire straights would have accepted a transfer from overseas with hesitant Japanese and a suspiciously barren paperwork trail. His bag resting next to him as he thoughtfully clutched his admission number – 83, a prime number and hadn't he been taught there was power in those? – the messy-haired transfer watched as a small freshman was thrown into the air by two older students.

There was something devious about the blond-haired one of the pair, but it was none of his business and he turned his attention back to the crowd. Somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to care that he would be passing the next twelve months amongst these people: they weren't _his_ people. But then again he wasn't a wizard anymore, was he? Even after he'd bloody literally given his life for them, the backstabbing little… The sound of the paper crumbling in his fist brought him back to reality and the anger slowly ebbed away, replaced by fatigue and a measure of fatalism. Nothing had gone quite right ever since fate had marked him with that thrice-damned scar, had it? He took a deep breath and let go of his emotions – _I understand now, Professor Snape, I understand what your were trying to teach me_ – his face turning calm as indifference seeped back into green eyes.

Harry Potter turned his back to the masses and made his way back to the streets, not uttering a word. Today was the thirtieth day since he'd snapped his wand and left England in exile and disgrace.

--

The first day of class was monotonous, not that he'd expected anything else. He supposed not much could be as fascinating as being taught the inner workings of magic, but the whole affair was still unnecessarily tedious. Harry took his notes and wrote his work carefully, with an attention to detail that would have warmed Hermione's heart – he didn't intend to do anything else than eat and study while he was here, if nothing else he would compensate for not being a native speaker of Japanese. The rituals he'd paid for had implanted the knowledge in his head but the work had been rough, as all meddling with the mind tended to be. Some things he knew instinctively – his calligraphy was better in kanji than it ever had been in English – but others were harder to focus on, mostly the most obscure conversational terms. It was still a lot better than wandering Europe as a travelling sob story or becoming another weekly victim in America's wizarding tabloids.

No one knew him in Japan; the oriental wizards had never so much as heard of his name and would hence leave to the solitude he sought. Slipping his books in his back, the English teenager politely evaded the conversation attempts from the cheerful girl sitting next to him – Mamori Anezaki, he remembered her name was – and slung it over his shoulder. Without casting even a single look behind, he walked out of the classroom, navigating the crowd with the ease born of years of living amongst a bunch of rowdy magical students. Gracefully making his way towards the gates in a few minutes, he caught the sight of an overhead pass from the corner of his eye. Mentally evaluating the distance, he realized that taking that slight detour would actually get him faster to the train station. Indifferent to the tumultuous flow of students that laughed, talked and played around him, Harry went up the flock of stairs and stumbled on what looked like the beginning of an unpleasant scene: three older students were facing the young freshman he'd seen thrown in the air the day before. The young boy was clutching his cheek, looking as if he'd been slapped. The messy-haired transfer's eyes grew cold and he arrived just in time to catch the last words the apparent leader of the thugs was saying.

"… dare to try and run away like last time."

--

Sena Kobayakawa had known he was in trouble as soon as Jumonji's fist had made contact with his cheek, but as he saw Kuroki nonchalantly waving a metal baseball bat he realized that the situation was a lot worse than he'd thought. Terror gripped him as the three older students continued to banter with each other – this was going to hurt, he could already tell by their casual manner.

"You three aren't very clever, are you? Doing this in such a public place," a detached voice commented.

The delinquents turned to face the intruder, surprised they hadn't noticed him approaching, and Sena quickly glanced at the voice's owner. It was messy-haired teenager in Deimon's uniform, a bit older than him, with round glasses that weren't enough to hide the vivacity of his green eyes. He was a slightly taller than average and his skin colour betrayed he was not Japanese – the freshman remembered Mamori-nee had mentioned there was a transfer student from England this year, it must have been him. Sena's attention, however, was caught by the oddly indifferent expression on the foreigner's face, as if he hadn't just found three students beating up another and then proceeded to insult them. Jumonji was mostly unfazed and looked more irritated at the interruption than anything else.

"Kuroki, knock him out – we'll say he attacked us with the bat, it should be enough to keep his mouth shut."

The dark-haired delinquent waved the bat around experimentally and with a shrug took a swing at the transfer – Sena winced in anticipation and closed his eyes. When he didn't hear the sound of metal hitting bones, he opened them again and his mouth dropped open at the sight of the indifferent Englishman having caught Kuroki's wrist and holding it back. The foreigner casually hit the railing with the bully's arm, drawing a pained scream out of him. The green-eyed teenager snatched the bat before it fell to the ground and lazily twirled it in his hand, the menace clear even on his indifferent face.

"If you want to speak through broken bones, I'll indulge you. Otherwise I'd say its about time for you to leave," he said calmly.

The features of the three delinquents twisted in rage but Jumonji managed to keep a semblance of composure and roughly pulled back Togano who seemed about to get into the fight.

"We'll get you back for that, foreigner."

"I don't doubt you'll try," the green-eyed teenager muttered with a sardonic quirk of the lips as the punks scattered back to the streets all the while growling and calling out insults.

Sena remained motionless out of pure shock. Not even Mamori-nee was able to make these three leave without getting an adult involved, he'd been their errand boy since kindergarten. And the casual, self-assured way the guy had taken them on was…

"Are you all right?" the stranger asked with what sounded like mild amusement – Sena realized he'd been staring and blushed, ducking his head under the pretence of wiping his eyes.

"Thank you very much, sempai," he said earnestly as he bowed in gratitude.

The green-eyed transfer seemed somewhat uncomfortable at the sight and nodded brusquely at the sight before briskly walking away. Sena stared for a moment before he shook himself out of the stupor.

"Sempai! What is your name?"

The Englishman replied without even turning around but the words still carried perfectly to the freshman.

"Harry Potter."

The older student disappeared after crossing a corner and Sena remained thoughtful for a moment. His eyes then fell on the cellphone sticking out of his pocket and he realized with a start he was barely a five minutes away from missing his train – panicking, the young student sped away towards the station.


End file.
